¡SIGA! ¡SIGA! ¡SIGA!

Every day I leave my house in La "Y" (pronounced: 'La Yay') and wander down the broken asphalt of Echaverria to our giant Roundabout-o-Death in hopes of a miraculous break in traffic so I can scurry across dodging cars, motorbikes, buses, horns, and sly comments in Castellano (Spain-influenced Spanish).  I walk down to the corner, past the tienda where we buy our beer, eggs and bread, and stand amongst other Quiteños and hope the next electric blue, smog machine that comes barreling down the feeder road is headed my way.  

My limousine.  I like to share. 

I am fortunate enough to have been born a woman, in that the bus will almost completely stop for me when I am attempting to get on.  When I am strapped into 3+ inch heels, this is a blessing beyond comprehension by the male brain (well, most male brains, but that's another story entirely).  The humor in that we as women are given a hard time about the buses treating us well (they also stop for people who look like they could be 100 years old and anyone carrying a child like a football or basket of bread) is that once we are on that first step, the bus driver- conductor- is off.  Most times, it feels as if he has skipped first gear entirely and thrown the blue beast into second gear and we are handing our twenty-five cents over to the controlador (fare-collector) who wanders up and down the aisle.  How they remember who paid and didn't during rush hour is beyond me, and I have a knack for faces.  

During rush hour, getting on the bus is an Olympic event.  Usually, I must climb on amidst countless other (not to mention over-capacity) Quiteños and squeeze in between a middle-aged man who, coincidentally, falls at the appropriate height to function as a guard for the money stashed in my bra, should I need him to, and an indigenous woman with a baby strapped to her with a bed sheet and a bag of some unnamed vegetable either on her head or squared between her short, sturdy legs.  The crowd is not conducive to personal space, let alone the aforementioned jerking of the bus, which causes you to get to know your immediate traveling companion in the biblical sense.  

Standard method for carrying babies, though typically more complex in the wrap. This one looks like he can breathe, which is an anomaly.

On the off hours, you should find a simple plastic seat with your name on it.  Those who sit in the aisle do not rise or scoot over to allow you to pass by and lower yourself onto the window adjacent seat; they simply scoot both knees to the aisle and keep their glazed stare on the passing buildings or on the sales person selling choclates, caramelos, dulces, and chicle.  No one wants their bag sliced.  The dull roar of the engine and warm sun beaming through the messy glass makes for a nostalgic ride, like when we were babies and our parents, worn out from pacing us back and forth while we wailed, would strap us into the car and drive us around the block until we were lulled into a peaceful slumber. 


Sometimes there are entertainers who enter the bus, much like those selling soccer nets, sweets, ice cream, music, hats, chips, etc.  I have seen two boys under the age of ten come on to the trolé and blow the windows out of it with two classical guitars and voices that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up out of respeto.  Conversely, I have had a tall, goofy man with skin the color of lacquer come on with a jump drive and speakers and rap the same three words over and over and then stick his hand in my face for his due diligence.  Back it up, buddy. No me gusta.

¡SIGA!  ¡SIGA!  ¡SIGA!

It means "Go ahead..." but it comes across as, "Get on the goddamn bus and get away from the door".  The laid back, round-to-it attitude of the Latin Americans disappears as soon as that electric blue tank rolls around the corner of the redondel and screech to a halt- never where you are, mind you, but about ten feet away and around ankle-breaking potholes- and you hear ¡SIGA! Shit.


Every parada where countless ¡SIGA! exclamations are poured out of the open bus door onto the grimy streets of Quito, I see people get off the bus and return to their private lives; filing into twenty story buildings, wandering into local restaurantes or exchanging kisses and handshakes with loved ones.  At stop lights, local performers wander between vehicles juggling bowling pins, spinning poi, throwing balls over buses to their counterpart, riding unicycles, you name it. Older indigenous women meander the lanes with newspapers, fresh corn on the cob, lottery tickets and handmade items.  Pedestrians scramble to cross the asphalt before the light changes to green and horns begin to blare out of sheer habit.  Drivers pitan (honk) and have zero remorse... Think NYC with flavor. 

Exiting the bus is by far the least stressful leg of my daily adventure, I bid a lighthearted Gracias to the holder of my destiny as a thanks for not killing me between La 'Y' and Estadio Olympico (where my employer is).  As the bus rolls away, I always find myself feeling as though I left a part of myself on the bus... With the child who was turned around in their seat looking over their mother's shoulder at the gringa smiling back... With the old man with the brown fedora perfectly framing his experienced face and snow-white hair that has probably lived two or three lifetimes.... With the woman wrangling three children who want nothing more than ice cream from the man in the bright red uniform on the bicycle...

I am amazed at the pace of the daily life here in Quito.  The incredible people who unknowingly cling to their culture inspire me to look deeper into mine, as well as to create my own.  I know in my heart, that every day I am fortunate to be here in Ecuador and that this was by far the best decision of my life.  My "Year of the Yes" will continue into 2012, without a doubt, and I will continue to ¡SIGA! every chance I get.  A massive part of my blessings are derived from the people I have met here... But that is another blog, as they deserve recognition, if for nothing else, just for helping me find my home here in South America. 

Go forth... ¡SIGA!

xx.a

realism v. romanticism

We as individuals are forced to define ourselves on a daily basis: age, race, gender, socioeconomic status, vocation, ethnicity, religion, creed, sexual preference, political party... The list goes on and on.  As I have mentioned before, I consider myself to be a dichotomous person, and am often frustrated when it comes to labeling myself to ease someones discomfort and uncertainty.  I have been posed many questions in my years wandering this planet, some have been the easiest to answer, some remain unanswerable based on an inability to fully shove my thought process and belief system into a box someone else made 100 years ago.  The one question that has often puzzled me, yet I refuse to give up on, is as follows: 


Are you a Romantic or a Realist? 


I pride myself on having spent many moons in the depths of both lands.  I once resided so deep in the forest of Realism that I begin to wonder if I have lost my mind, much like the movie 'Inception', and had become cynical and jaded.  I basked in the unadulterated glory of the sun of Romanticism that I feared burning my retinas and never seeing clearly again.  I am pleased to report that I believe I survived both exposures, in spite of their duration and adverse effects on the ol' ticker.  


I decided to delve into each respective philosophy and figure out what it is that is keeping me awake at night and answer these questions: 


1.  Are the presentations of Realism & Romanticism skewed, respectively, and does this affect our perception of the philosophies? 
2.  Are they mutually exclusive? Mutually beneficial? 
3.  Can I be both? 



ro·man·ti·cism

       [roh-man-tuh-siz-uhm]

         –noun

1. Characterized by a heightened interest in nature, emphasis on the individuals expression of emotion and imagination, departure from the attitudes and forms of classicism, and rebellion

against established social rules and conventions.

re·al·ism

       [ree-uh-liz-uhm]

          –noun

1. Interest in/concern for the actual or real, as distinguished from the abstract, speculative, etc.

2. The tendency to view or represent things as they really are.
3. The doctrine that universals have a real objective existence.
4. The doctrine that objects of sense perception have an existence independent of the act of perception.

Romanticism is often classified as "unreasonable, irrational, unrealistic, fantasy" etc. I chose the above definition, after a fair amount of searching, because it is the least threatening to the spirit of the movement.  This definition is complimentary, whereas others, such as, "Not based on fact; imaginary or fictitious" denotes a complete lack of credibility and leaves little magnetism [cue: irony]. I see little to nothing wrong with allowing the poetry of life to enhance each of our respective lifetimes here on the third rock from the sun.  


Realism, conversely, denotes a purely logical approach to life.  Who wouldn't be a realist?  It's silly to live in La La Land like a Romantic.  Terms like "Really are" and "Actual" insinuate indirectly that Romanticism is ridiculous and should be left on stage at high school graduation.  Grow up, Amie. You cannot possibly be a romantic.  You have years and years of education, have been in the work force for over a decade and have had enough heartbreak to carry you through two lifetimes! 


Oh, but then there is that little line about "existence independent of perception".  Shit.  That actually makes sense.  Is that where the beauty- raw as it may be- of Realism lies?  How very He's Just Not That Into You... "Stop superimposing your self-developed ideals and fantasies into reality... It is what it is."  Oh, bite me. Life is far too short to be an extremist and even shorter when you consider that not one person on this bloody planet- experts of all sorts included- knows what in the blazes they are doing.  We are all stumbling through this life, even those who know infinitely more than the rest, and all we can do is love and learn every single day. That being said, since we don't know exactly what reality is, nor are we experts in perception or presentation of self, we most likely are screwing something up.  Oh, that's reality. 


Enter: Romanticism.  Realism says, "He didn't call, he's not into you."  Romanticism says, "He got busy... he's nervous...he's waiting 6 days like 'Swingers'..." Often times individuals- especially women, by gender role- tend to bury their heads in the [romantic] sand in hopes that Realism won't wander by and smack them upside the head. A crutch is unnecessary, ladies and gentlemen, just take a deep breath and one step forward at a time. We need balance in our lives, that is undeniable.  What is often forgotten is that the balance is respective to each individual person.  Male and female gender roles may play a part in generalities, but over all I find that the soul needs to be fed what it needs to be fed.  My soul needs both. 


Therefore I have composed two short letters to each respective movement, in hopes that one day, if I am a really good girl, Santa Clause will bring me what I wish for. 

Dear Realism,

Please help me to not get my hopes up and expect too much from people; both as a societal whole and as individuals in our relationships.  Please remind me daily that I need to work hard, as no one is going to give me what I want or take care of me for the rest of my life.  Please help me to see shit coming that I might normally be to head-in-the-clouds to foresee & the calmness to navigate the situation rationally.  Oh, and a decent 401k. 

Regards,

Amie 

And now, it's counterpart: 

Dearest, Sweet Romanticism... 

Please help me to travel the world (without breaking the bank, of course) and complete my bucket list before I am too old to read it.  Please help me to keep my girly figure (while not obsessing over every meal, of course) and have as little physical change over the next 40 years as possible. Please let me live without regret (while learning from my mistakes, of course) and keep all of my friends (while making new ones, of course) close and loved.  Most importantly, please help me to find someone to fall deeply in love with someone who I can be myself with (who has the same goals/core beliefs, of course) to share my life with. Please let them be kind, caring, considerate, trustworthy, honest, loving, compassionate, generous, hopeful, smart and driven (but modest, of course).  Please let that person appreciate me, life & all the blessings around them (without being too soft, of course). Please let every day be an adventure, let each night be a celebration of sorts and let each beautiful moment be appreciated.  

All my love and gratitude, 

Amie Ann 

Satire aside, I don't see anything wrong with allowing the soul to reside in both categories.  We all go through stages in our lives and shouldn't we allow ourselves to adjust our personal philosophies as we adjust our diets, musical tastes and views on the world?  Call me a "Romantic Realist", if you must, but I have come to the official decision that I am both.  I am a Realist in that I know that Murphy's Law is a very real thing, that relationships take equal effort on both parts & that I can no longer eat a cheeseburger and not work out.  I am a Romantic in that if I put enough good energy out there that I might actually catch a break, that I will find someone to be weird with for the rest of my life & that I will still eat a cheeseburger, but skipping the escalator in favor of the stairs will make a difference.  I feel like I have found my balance (or as close as I can come to it at this point in my life) with the star crossed lovers... Yes, Realism can exist without the immediate effects of Romanticism, and vice versa, however would anyone really want them to?  They need not be mutually exclusive, though.  I am sure, dear reader, that you are thinking to yourself, "Shit, I forgot my coffee on the counter!" But after that you are assuring yourself, "This is the Romantic in Amie, believing Romanticism & Realism can co-exist in someone peacefully".  Sorry to disappoint, but even the Realist in me knows that if you focus on the strengths of each entity, you can become a stronger, better and more passionate version of yourself!  Figure out which version of yourself- the Romantic or the Realist- is better with each respective situation (relationships, work, adventure, etc.) and let them take the reigns. Of course, it never hurts to let the other do a little backseat driving.... 

I hope for the best, but prepare for the worst... I vow to myself to make the best of everything.

"Realism...has no more to do with reality than anything else."  -Hob Broun

"There are only two ways to live your life: as though nothing is a miracle, or as though everything is a miracle."  -Albert Einstein

xx.a

inspiration drawn

So far, my "Year of the Yes" has been quite successful.  I find myself keeping accountability with my inner child, which is a surprise to me because I thought that, without a doubt, I'd have to be pushed a bit after the holidays.  My inner determination is impressing me, and I find that I am drawing inspiration from the most unexpected places, as well as some old favorites.

I was throwing around some of the things I have been focusing on- YOTY, inspiration, goals, resolutions, plans- and started laughing out loud at how simple it all had really become.  For the first time in a long time, I'm on the same page with myself! As oddly amusing as that statement is, it speaks volumes as to where my life was a year ago.  Learning to listen to yourself, and glance in the mirror once in a while, will keep you in check more than I'd like to have admitted. along the way, but gladly admit and promote in this brisk month of January. 

Where should I look for inspiration?  Should I even go looking for it?  Let's be honest, when we look for something, it tends to hide from us.  It is always when we are focused on something completely separate that we are presented a random addition to our lives.  Looking for love? Get a hobby, because the more you head out to online dating and bars, the less likely you are to find your soulmate.  Or at least that is how life has lead us to believe things work.  Often times I sit down with my paints in hand and stare at that canvas... and wait. Even when I do finally put that sweet, saturated acrylic on the stretched canvas, I am more than likely not thrilled with the result.  Conversely, when inspiration strikes me at will, I find the results are ten-fold what I could have hoped for and I feel as though I truly gave birth to a tangible emotion.  I willingly admit that you cannot rest on your laurels awaiting inspiration for too long, as life will surely pass you by.  I figure the best balance of inspiration is a mixture of natural and self-obtained: allow inspiration to come naturally, and when feeling a drought, change things up and find something new to be inspired by. 

I've discovered knowing what works in your life and what doesn't can be inspiration enough.  Whether it is a job, a relationship, an area of study, or even just the way you are leading your own life: If it isn't working, it isn't working.  We try to force things, as a society and as individuals, to work because we've been taught to "stick it out".  Unhappiness is derived from this very mentality, though I think it is equally drawn from being unhappy with oneself, but that's another entry. However, I must make the argument (I love arguing with myself) that frivolity with your career, relationships and the like is as dangerous (if not more so) than remaining locked into unhappiness.  We should not take for granted the beautiful things in life that aren't easy, free and perfect.  Without the rain and bite in Winter, we would not appreciate the feeling of the sun bathing us in the Spring. The same is true in every aspect of life:

sobriety & intoxication
love & fighting
single & involved
productivity & relaxation
newness & comfort
change & stability
adulthood & young at heart

I enjoy all of these things in their own right, just as I do my own dichotomy. From this comfort and loving who I am, I can say that my inspiration is solid right now.  I'm inspired to better myself, to help others where I can, to create, to love, to take chances, and to bring inspiration to others if I am able.  I thank everyone in my life who is bringing inspiration to my doorstep on a daily basis... Those who are making "Year of the Yes" a reality, you also have my appreciation.  There are many, many big things coming up and you will have been a generous part of making this life of mine something to be reckoned with.

Cheers.
xx.a

"Most folks are about as happy as they make up their minds to be." -Abraham Lincoln 

"Man is the artificer of his own happiness." -Henry David Thoreau